After a month working for the Mouse, I guess it's about time I started blogging about it. We sell just about everything with Disney character on it -- from striped Tigger jumpers for babies to Tinkerbell jewelery for adults to Hannah Montana pillows. It's bright and colourful and aimed mostly at children, but with some adult toys thrown in, like our collectable snowglobes and coffee mugs.
I've found that working there is an extremely tiring, but not unentertaining experience. While adults do come in looking for merchandise for themselves, the majority of customers are accompanied by small children and babies. The store has especially wide aisles to accomodate the caravans of tricked-out strollers and carriages, but during our busiest times I often wish those aisles came equipped with traffic lights and crossing guards to manage the crush.
And the children. There are so many of them - and they're not all on their best behaviour (although I've yet to encounter a true monster) - but they've provided me with so much writing material on parenting that it's totally worth it. In a month, I've encountered so many different types of parenting attitudes, I could fuel a hundred stories. I've seen children kept on leashes, children with those tiny sandals that make a loud squeaky-toy sound with every step so their parents know where they are, children who are refused a toy by a strict parent only to receive it from the indulgent grandmother two steps behind. We've had parents ignore the "over three" warning on toy labels because their toddlers are "smart." We've even had unaccompanied children whose parents are shopping in the next shop over who've mistaken our store for a free day-care centre.
I've seen a few "don't touch anything, and I mean it" parents, but for the most part the spirit is one of indulgence and spoiling, with the difference being in the scale. Parents end up buying birthday presents, other kids' birthday presents, "today's a sale and who knows when everything'll be this cheap again and my kids will only be kids once" presents, "just shut up already" presents, "we're going to Disneyland so we might as well get the same stuff in advance here while they're cheaper" presents, and "my children literally have everything else in the store" presents. I kid you not, I had to guest-service a grandmother who couldn't find a birthday present for her twin grandsons because everything I pointed out, they had already. "Spoiled rotten, they are," she growled, with the annoyance of a bear who's found out someone got to that picnic basket first.
Sure, the kids are loud, but you can understand the parents' need to drop the cash when you see a kid's reaction to a particular toy. Kids five and over tend to scream their appreciation - usually the character's name rather than the type of toy itself - ie, a boy receiving a Cars bubble machine will not go, "Cool, a bubble machine!" but rather, "LIGHTNING MCQUEEEEEN!" or a girl with a new Disney Princess swimsuit will shriek, "CinderELLA! CinderELLLLAAAAAAA!" Toddlers, oddly enough, are quiet when they get presents, which probably explains why they are getting them in the first place. My favourite scenes in the store are when a parent introduces a doll or a stuffed animal to a baby or toddler, and it ends up being the Huggies version of Love At First Sight. If the toy is satisfactory, the child will go completely silent, take the toy in their arms, and hug it so tight while smiling at everyone as if she'd spent all, what, two and half years of her life looking for this one toy.
Of course, once she and her mom or dad get to the till it's another story - the moment they take that toy out of her hands to ring it in she'll start screeching like a cheap car alarm and the Cast Member on till will have to manhandle a toy coated in loving baby saliva to look for the UPC tag that seven times out of ten has already been torn off. Delightful.
And of course, there are the annoyances that accompany any job in retail. For instances, the irresistible temptation for customers to pick out a bunch of stuff, realize they don't want it, and leave it wherever the hell they want. Or customers who start a till interaction (which we can't close without voiding everything) only to leave it in the middle to go shopping for something else while a line builds up behind. Or customers who don't see the blue ribbons that mark where the till line-up should be, so they line up in an aisle and get pissy when they realize they have to go all the way to the back of the real line before we can serve them. Or the customers who line up after those aforementioned people and are even pissier.
Customers who smell bad (either bad food or too-heavy perfume).
Customers who let their kids run buck wild.
Customers who enter the store two minutes to closing time to "just browse."
Customers who bring in coffee, drinks, and food, and then leave said garbage in the store.
Customers who come in to the Disney Store (which carries only DISNEY BRAND PRODUCTS) asking for Dora the Explorer, Madascar characters, Shrek, and Spider-Man (???).
And then, of course - there's the big screen at the back of the store that plays the same hour-long tape of trailers, Lilo & Stitch sing alongs, Little Mermaid song clips, and Disney Channel advertisements. I've seen the Ratatouille trailer and behind-the-scenes clips about a million times - luckily, I still want to see the movie itself, and my experience at the Movie Theatre (which also played a 40-minute trailer video non-stop) helped me to ignore it.
But so far I'm loving it, the pay and hours are good, and so far I don't seem to be screwing up too badly. So I think I'll stick around.
Showing posts with label Work. Show all posts
Showing posts with label Work. Show all posts
Friday, June 29, 2007
Wednesday, June 08, 2005
Ha ha! I'm Back! And I have Money!
Lazy, lazy me. I haven't written for over a month, and so much has happened!
My sweet job at the Second Cup? I got fired! No, wait - "let go", if you are more comfortable with the poorly-fitting euphemism. Yup, it turns out that the manager incorrectly estimated the number of employees that she needed - how could she have expected that nine former employees, some returning from years spent in Europe or Ontario, would converge on this tiny Second Cup branch, demanding full-time hours?
Because, in some former life, they all worked at a Second Cup, or some establishment that served similar beverages in a similar manner, they were granted seniority, and as there were now no shifts left, as the new kid I got bumped off the end of the bench because the other guys apparently had the right to a seat. Sucks to be me. My dad was appropriately outraged, and was only barely prevented from dousing the building with gasoline and lighting a match by my mother, who (correctly, I'll grudgingly admit) identified that Second Cup as the town square of our upper-class neighbourhood, and still frequents the place (along with me, when I'm in the mind for a free hot chocolate).
At first, the letting-go part was rather painless. The manager had made a mistake, she said, it was not my fault, she said, I was an exceptional worker and was sure to find a job more suited to my intellect and talent, she said. As a naturally proud person, I agreed, and left the job more or less optimistic that I would find someplace better. I would not make the same mistake I made last year - where I sent in 11 resumes, minus cover letters and follow-ups. Oh no, now I had the insight to try for my dream jobs. I sent in resumes (and specially written cover letters!) to Chapters, to HMV, to Claire's and Ardene and Famous Players (which I initially refused, because they paid beans). I went to places that sold things that I loved - DVDs and movies and music.
I soon found out there were worse things than not being called - there was outright rejection. Not enough experience, not enough availability (I am restricted by bus routes), four different people who said they'd call no matter what by a certain date and time and didn't, and thus forced me to call them with some pretence or another only to be shot down. There was rifling through the "General Help" section of the newspaper and feeling inferior because I didn't have the muscles for general labour, didn't have the organizational skills for clerical work, couldn't get to a well-paying job because it was an hour and half ride on the bus. Nobody called, my favourite stores weren't hiring or wouldn't be hiring for another month, and I had a time limit.
Before I knew it - a month had gone by! A whole month, spent doing nothing, or close to nothing. A whole month without income supposed to be for my tuition. I decided I had no choice - so I returned to the McDonalds. I'd gone there first, before Second Cup, because the manager there said she could offer me full-time hours. I hated working there (you've read my earlier posts, right?) , but it was good money and good hours. So I went back. I spoke with a new manager, who verbally guaranteed that I could get steady 8 to 4 or 9 to 5 work. She said she'd call. She didn't. I called, several times, in a panic until someone brusquely replied "Could you please stop calling? We're busy." Finally, I called the day later, and she replied "Oh yeah, it's store policy not to rehire people who used to work at McDonald's."
Rejected. By McDonald's. It's like arriving at the house of the most acne-encrusted, bespectacled, bath-fearing, nerd in school all decked out for the prom, corsage in hand, only for him to say, "Oh, I don't date chicks who wear purple. I'm going stag! Whoo!" Even when the day before he'd said, "Oh my God! A girl talked to me! A real girl! Sure! Let's go to the prom! I'll pay for the limo! I'll pay for the flowers! I'll pay you if you want! Alright! Grandma's going to be so pleased! "
My own grandmother wasn't pleased by this rejection either, by the way. A woman who is usually so well-mannered and prim that she could sit on a whoopie cushion without making a rude sound (true story!), her astonishing reaction to the news that McDonald's kicked me to the curb was "Those bastards! I hope they burn in hell!"
I had few options left by this point. So, I chose to call back Cineplex Odeon City - a smallish theatre downtown where I'd had an interview and had been basically hired on the spot, if only I would call back. I didn't - which sorta makes me believe that the other people who never called back were really being manipulated by my bad karma. Needless to say, on the phone with the manager, I had to eat a fair bit of crow - but it tasted like buttery, buttery popcorn. I was hired!
Not only hired - but they actually worked my schedule so that I had work five days a week, pretty much the same time every day. Because I couldn't work past nine (buses again), I got day shifts, 10:30 am to 5:15 pm, and lots of them - five shifts my first week. I soon learned why - apparently, most people hired by movie theatres want to work at night - because although we get minimum wage (actually, a little above), we also get commission for every combo we sell, and more people come and eat at movies at night. So now you know why the people at concessions always pressure you to upsize - they get commission, and 90% of a theatre's money comes from concessions.
Still, though, I get two free shirts and a hat (to be returned if I quit), and everyday I arrive while it's light out and go home while it's light out, so I'm never nervous about being downtown. With every pay stub is stapled two free movie passes for me a friend, and in a movie season with Batman Begins and Bewitched and War of the Worlds and Fantastic Four, this is pretty much where I was planning to spend most of my spare money anyway. Now I can save it for Animethon 12!
Anyhoo, I feel much better, I'm working at an establishment that peddles something I love dearly (that is, movies) and the people there seem very nice and friendly. During my first training shift, after watching the obligatorily hilarious sexual harassment video, the manager explained to us the details of harassment (how it hurts people's self esteem, how it's derogatory), only to have it somewhat deflated by interruptions on her walkie talkie - one made by a employee who got stuck in the garbage room, and another by another employee who'd turned on her walkie-talkie for the purpose of laughing at him. "Jessica? Jessica? I'm stuck in the garbage room!" "HAHAHAHA!"
So now I have money. And movies. For now I am content.
My sweet job at the Second Cup? I got fired! No, wait - "let go", if you are more comfortable with the poorly-fitting euphemism. Yup, it turns out that the manager incorrectly estimated the number of employees that she needed - how could she have expected that nine former employees, some returning from years spent in Europe or Ontario, would converge on this tiny Second Cup branch, demanding full-time hours?
Because, in some former life, they all worked at a Second Cup, or some establishment that served similar beverages in a similar manner, they were granted seniority, and as there were now no shifts left, as the new kid I got bumped off the end of the bench because the other guys apparently had the right to a seat. Sucks to be me. My dad was appropriately outraged, and was only barely prevented from dousing the building with gasoline and lighting a match by my mother, who (correctly, I'll grudgingly admit) identified that Second Cup as the town square of our upper-class neighbourhood, and still frequents the place (along with me, when I'm in the mind for a free hot chocolate).
At first, the letting-go part was rather painless. The manager had made a mistake, she said, it was not my fault, she said, I was an exceptional worker and was sure to find a job more suited to my intellect and talent, she said. As a naturally proud person, I agreed, and left the job more or less optimistic that I would find someplace better. I would not make the same mistake I made last year - where I sent in 11 resumes, minus cover letters and follow-ups. Oh no, now I had the insight to try for my dream jobs. I sent in resumes (and specially written cover letters!) to Chapters, to HMV, to Claire's and Ardene and Famous Players (which I initially refused, because they paid beans). I went to places that sold things that I loved - DVDs and movies and music.
I soon found out there were worse things than not being called - there was outright rejection. Not enough experience, not enough availability (I am restricted by bus routes), four different people who said they'd call no matter what by a certain date and time and didn't, and thus forced me to call them with some pretence or another only to be shot down. There was rifling through the "General Help" section of the newspaper and feeling inferior because I didn't have the muscles for general labour, didn't have the organizational skills for clerical work, couldn't get to a well-paying job because it was an hour and half ride on the bus. Nobody called, my favourite stores weren't hiring or wouldn't be hiring for another month, and I had a time limit.
Before I knew it - a month had gone by! A whole month, spent doing nothing, or close to nothing. A whole month without income supposed to be for my tuition. I decided I had no choice - so I returned to the McDonalds. I'd gone there first, before Second Cup, because the manager there said she could offer me full-time hours. I hated working there (you've read my earlier posts, right?) , but it was good money and good hours. So I went back. I spoke with a new manager, who verbally guaranteed that I could get steady 8 to 4 or 9 to 5 work. She said she'd call. She didn't. I called, several times, in a panic until someone brusquely replied "Could you please stop calling? We're busy." Finally, I called the day later, and she replied "Oh yeah, it's store policy not to rehire people who used to work at McDonald's."
Rejected. By McDonald's. It's like arriving at the house of the most acne-encrusted, bespectacled, bath-fearing, nerd in school all decked out for the prom, corsage in hand, only for him to say, "Oh, I don't date chicks who wear purple. I'm going stag! Whoo!" Even when the day before he'd said, "Oh my God! A girl talked to me! A real girl! Sure! Let's go to the prom! I'll pay for the limo! I'll pay for the flowers! I'll pay you if you want! Alright! Grandma's going to be so pleased! "
My own grandmother wasn't pleased by this rejection either, by the way. A woman who is usually so well-mannered and prim that she could sit on a whoopie cushion without making a rude sound (true story!), her astonishing reaction to the news that McDonald's kicked me to the curb was "Those bastards! I hope they burn in hell!"
I had few options left by this point. So, I chose to call back Cineplex Odeon City - a smallish theatre downtown where I'd had an interview and had been basically hired on the spot, if only I would call back. I didn't - which sorta makes me believe that the other people who never called back were really being manipulated by my bad karma. Needless to say, on the phone with the manager, I had to eat a fair bit of crow - but it tasted like buttery, buttery popcorn. I was hired!
Not only hired - but they actually worked my schedule so that I had work five days a week, pretty much the same time every day. Because I couldn't work past nine (buses again), I got day shifts, 10:30 am to 5:15 pm, and lots of them - five shifts my first week. I soon learned why - apparently, most people hired by movie theatres want to work at night - because although we get minimum wage (actually, a little above), we also get commission for every combo we sell, and more people come and eat at movies at night. So now you know why the people at concessions always pressure you to upsize - they get commission, and 90% of a theatre's money comes from concessions.
Still, though, I get two free shirts and a hat (to be returned if I quit), and everyday I arrive while it's light out and go home while it's light out, so I'm never nervous about being downtown. With every pay stub is stapled two free movie passes for me a friend, and in a movie season with Batman Begins and Bewitched and War of the Worlds and Fantastic Four, this is pretty much where I was planning to spend most of my spare money anyway. Now I can save it for Animethon 12!
Anyhoo, I feel much better, I'm working at an establishment that peddles something I love dearly (that is, movies) and the people there seem very nice and friendly. During my first training shift, after watching the obligatorily hilarious sexual harassment video, the manager explained to us the details of harassment (how it hurts people's self esteem, how it's derogatory), only to have it somewhat deflated by interruptions on her walkie talkie - one made by a employee who got stuck in the garbage room, and another by another employee who'd turned on her walkie-talkie for the purpose of laughing at him. "Jessica? Jessica? I'm stuck in the garbage room!" "HAHAHAHA!"
So now I have money. And movies. For now I am content.
Wednesday, March 30, 2005
Coffee Agent 007
I've got a new summer job - at the Second Cup down the street. It's pretty much in the same area as the McDonald's and the Safeway, so it's within walking distance. Plus, their work policies make those of McDonald's and Safeway look like the Third Reich.
Of course, there will be differences in how I work there. For one thing, I'm going full-time for the summer. According to the manager however, workers who want the benefit of summer full-time have to commit (using the honour system, natch) to continue working there part-time during the school year. I jumped at the chance, full of writhing doubts, and of course had second thoughts afterward. Due to a sudden spasm of low self-confidence, I basically had a crisis of "If I don't take this job, who's to say I can get another one"?
Still, I calmed down. This year, summer for me lasts 4 months (May-to-August) and I was originally sure that working full time for 4 months at the not-too-shabby rate of $7/hour would provide me with plenty of cash, even with some to spare for Animethon if I played my cards right. I should remind you, dear readers, that math has never been my strong suit. In fact, by resorting to a calculator to tally up the exact sum, my travails at the Second Cup should only amount to $3360 - a little more than half the yearly tuition. Which means that if I want to pay my own way, I'll have to spend my part-time money on tuition as well, instead of on social entertainments as I was originally hoping. Still, it's far better than the measly $900 I got from McDonalds.
So - this means one of several things. 1) Once again, I will NOT be touching any of the money I earn during the summer. 2) I will have to resort to saved-up allowance and freelance projects (weeding the garden, mowing the lawn, reviewing books for the newspaper) to pay for fun stuff in the summer (i.e. Movies, Animethon [which is in August, which gives me a little more time], parties, trips to the bar, etc.). Needless to say, my summer doesn't look particularily bright.
At least the work will be easy. Second Cup is rather lax, not in the manner that they are lazy, oh no, but that they demand a great deal less. I can wear earrings to the Second Cup, and spike my hair, wear necklaces and rings. I can talk to people (as long as I'm not busy), and I can drink (completary!) coffee drinks during my shift. I am also able to schedule days off in advance - which I have already done to prepare for having my wisdom teeth pulled (because, evidently, they weren't doing me any good anyway, according to my parents) and for Animethon which, to my joy, has expanded into a full 3-day event.
Maybe this is sign from God to work on my writing. Free of the restrictions of "fun" and "games", I will have plenty of free time to work on my novel and short stories.
Of course, there will be differences in how I work there. For one thing, I'm going full-time for the summer. According to the manager however, workers who want the benefit of summer full-time have to commit (using the honour system, natch) to continue working there part-time during the school year. I jumped at the chance, full of writhing doubts, and of course had second thoughts afterward. Due to a sudden spasm of low self-confidence, I basically had a crisis of "If I don't take this job, who's to say I can get another one"?
Still, I calmed down. This year, summer for me lasts 4 months (May-to-August) and I was originally sure that working full time for 4 months at the not-too-shabby rate of $7/hour would provide me with plenty of cash, even with some to spare for Animethon if I played my cards right. I should remind you, dear readers, that math has never been my strong suit. In fact, by resorting to a calculator to tally up the exact sum, my travails at the Second Cup should only amount to $3360 - a little more than half the yearly tuition. Which means that if I want to pay my own way, I'll have to spend my part-time money on tuition as well, instead of on social entertainments as I was originally hoping. Still, it's far better than the measly $900 I got from McDonalds.
So - this means one of several things. 1) Once again, I will NOT be touching any of the money I earn during the summer. 2) I will have to resort to saved-up allowance and freelance projects (weeding the garden, mowing the lawn, reviewing books for the newspaper) to pay for fun stuff in the summer (i.e. Movies, Animethon [which is in August, which gives me a little more time], parties, trips to the bar, etc.). Needless to say, my summer doesn't look particularily bright.
At least the work will be easy. Second Cup is rather lax, not in the manner that they are lazy, oh no, but that they demand a great deal less. I can wear earrings to the Second Cup, and spike my hair, wear necklaces and rings. I can talk to people (as long as I'm not busy), and I can drink (completary!) coffee drinks during my shift. I am also able to schedule days off in advance - which I have already done to prepare for having my wisdom teeth pulled (because, evidently, they weren't doing me any good anyway, according to my parents) and for Animethon which, to my joy, has expanded into a full 3-day event.
Maybe this is sign from God to work on my writing. Free of the restrictions of "fun" and "games", I will have plenty of free time to work on my novel and short stories.
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